


Another Kind of Genesis

by While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Traits, BAMF Daryl Dixon, BAMF Rick Grimes, Bisexual Rick Grimes, Blood and Gore, Forced Evolutionary Virus, Genesis - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Human Experimentation, Hurt Rick, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Non-Consensual Touching, Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Protective Daryl Dixon, Protectiveness, References to Canon, Rick Grimes grieving, Search for a Cure, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Starts with major character death, Suicidal Thoughts, This is a dark one so be warned, Violence Against Walkers (Walking Dead), Virus, Whump, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend/pseuds/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend
Summary: He had never told anyone what else had happened at the CDC. It had been years, after all, and Dr. Jenner a madman.Probably nothing worth mentioning. And then Rick had forgotten about the whole thing. But now, clutching Carl, that seed inside decides to put down roots, at the worst possible moment for Rick Grimes, his family and Alexandria. Needless to say, Negan isn't happy.Alternative Spin - deviates from canon after Season 8, Episode 9: "Honor".
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Rick Grimes/Negan
Comments: 54
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this about three years ago when a rather vicious plot bunny wrestled me to the ground. Didn't finish the story then, unfortunately, although I had a clear idea where it should end up. Found this story again a while ago and decided maybe it was worth putting out after all! Plan to complete it in due course, but updates will be quite slow. 
> 
> Please heed the tags, it's a rather graphic and disturbing. I mean, realize that warning could be a bit of a no-brainer within this fandom, but just to be safe, let me repeat: This is dark. TW for intense grief and trauma, suicidal thoughts, heavy violence, gore, non-con elements (nothing sexual though!). Heavy Rick!Whump. Don't like, don't read. Hope you enjoy!

_When it happened, Rick was unprepared._

_But - looking back later - there may have been subtle signs. He couldn’t have known to what, though. No one could have known._

Slowly, he kneeled down next to his dying son. That was the moment when some switch finally chose to tip all the way over.

 _Click_.

Gears started turning that had been dormant for years. They had been patiently waiting since that night at the CDC, when Doctor Jenner had backed him up against a wall, muttering something about a trail antidote he needed to test, and slammed the syringe into his thigh.

He'd never told anyone about it. There hadn’t been a good time for breaching the subject. The endless struggle for survival, the burning need to save his extended family – it had taken up all of his time, Rick's whole self. It got worse the bigger his family grew. With all the losses and the guilt and strain piling up over the years his own experience hadn't seemed at all important or relevant. After months of silently dwelling on what might still happen to him after that mysterious injection, whether he should consider himself somehow toxic… nothing happened.

The fight for survival went on, though, the game changing with every new adversary. Sometimes Rick felt like he couldn’t even draw a single deep breath, didn't have the time. He had had so many other things to worry about. He couldn’t afford the mental energy to worry about that little oddity for long. Eventually, the Alexandrian leader forgot about the prick of the needle and Jenner’s wild eyes altogether.

It had been nothing more than a failure, surely.

But now, as the former cop crouched in the dark, things were changing in ways he couldn't imagine yet.

Cold dampness seeped into the fabric of his jeans, but he didn’t care. Something in his genes clicked into place. He didn’t even feel the difference. Not at first.

Too consumed was one Rick Grimes by the suffocating grief that flooded him.

It was almost unbearable to look at Carl, his boy, who was gazing back at him with such calm acceptance. His blood-stained fingers rested over the exposed bite on his abdomen.

Rick held back a sob, no words coming out. Tears trickled down his cheeks, even those slowed by the weight of his despair.

_I can’t. I can’t. I can’t lose you._

His son smiled. Of course, he would. Even now. Even though he was dying here, in the cold and the dark, frightened survivors crouched all around them, Carl had always had that kind of special bravery to smile death in the face.

Slowly Carl brought up a hand to caress Rick’s face. “I’m sorry, dad. I had to do the right thing...,” he whispered. Willing him to understand. 

The black underscores under his eyes were pronounced, and there was so much blood seeping out of his wound.

Rick nodded jerkily. He didn’t know what to say. Caught in the moment that was going to change the rest of his life, Rick ignored the broken people at his back and situation unfolding above him, Alexandria being overrun and ruined.

He couldn’t focus on those usually so important things.

This was the end of him being able to feel anything, do anything, because _Carl was dying in his arms_.

It hurt _so_ _bad_ , in his head, heart and chest, as if he were literally dying with him.

_God, a part of him wanted to._

A ripple ran through his body. The odd flash of heat that followed it caused him to start sweating, even though it was so cold in the tunnels. Rick didn’t pay attention to this. Instead, he drew Carl up against his side, rocking him. Rocking his son. His child. _His dying child_.

Perhaps he was trying to comfort himself. Hoping to wake up from one of his worst nightmares. It wasn't going to happen. 

There were hands at Rick’s back. Words were being spoken to him, but he heard nothing. All he was capable of doing was to press his ear against Carl’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. Praying for it. It was faint, but Rick hung on to that sound. Near the very end, Carl looked at him again, quiet determination in his eyes, a forgiving smile playing across his features.

“I love you, Dad.”

It was the end.

“I love you, Carl,” Rick whispered. It was so heart-breaking he couldn’t gather the strength to say it louder. He wanted to shout it. Carl heard him nevertheless, thank god.

Blue eyes flicked up one last time to meet his own. A whole world of conversation passed between them. Soon, Carl’s eyes became unfocused. He sucked in a shallow breath, pain marring his face. Then it was time. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again. Rick continued rocking his son, mind numb.

It didn’t take long before his son gave a final sigh and went limp in his arms. Rick clung to Carl for many minutes after that. He felt the pliant body in his arms gradually beginning to cool, starting with a clammy feeling to the skin. Voices hissed in alarm as they tried to pry him off Carl, get him away before his dead boy turned into a monster. He let out a cry as he fought to keep Carl in his arms, startling and agitating the rest of the survivors. Someone hit him hard on the back of the head. Against his will, Rick felt his grip loosen in shock. They dragged him off the body unceremoniously, and he tried not to feel hate. He knew they had to. But to hear the squish as someone had the cold mercy to ram a serrated knife into his son’s brain… that was pure anguish.

He cried out weakly when he heard that sound, curling in on himself. Trying to cope and failing. 

As if to mirror his emotional anguish, his body suddenly struck up a notch on that odd heat he had tried to ignore before. A searing feeling ripped through his muscles, making him catch his breath. Something was wrong. Something was really, _really_ wrong. 

It felt similar to what happened to him after... _after Lori_... but, no, it was also different.

Rick blinked and groaned when someone shook him. It was Michonne. He wondered briefly if anyone else would have really had the balls to touch him right now. Daryl and Maggie weren’t nearby, at least, he hoped it for them, equally Carol, and everyone else who might have had the cruel but brutally necessary presence of mind to shake him to his senses was dead.

Michonne’s face swam in front of him. Maybe because his face was leaking. He strained himself to get a grip as she shook him once more, hard, desperately, almost angrily. When he managed to listen to what she was whisper-shouting at him, he guessed she had been saying things for a little while already. He was pathetic. He couldn't do this right now. 

“ _Rick_... _please_... we need you to get a grip. I’m sorry... but you can’t break down here. Not _here_ , not _now_. Do you understand? _Rick, you need to focus! We have to move_.”

“Michonne... _I_ _can’t_.” He rasped.

Even his voice sounded weird. Raspy and broken, with weird little hitches that didn’t belong there. It was probably linked to his leaking face, he supposed.

Michonne stared at him, dark eyes soulful. Her strong hands dug into his shirt, holding him up with ease. Maybe the only thing holding his sack of bones together. 

“ _Listen_ to me. I know you believe that right now, but I know you better. _You can do this_. No one is expecting that you can get us all out of here alive. _Just lead. Please._. _Lead_ , Rick!” 

Rick didn’t know what crazy part of him managed to pull it off, but he felt himself nodding.

What the hell was he thinking? He was in no state to lead right now. He shouldn't. 

He peered down the filthy cold tunnel all of the survivors were cowering in, registering the many pairs of frightened eyes reflecting back the little light. They were looking to their leader, and trying not to lose faith in him as he in turn tried not to descend into madness right in front of them. He didn’t _feel_ able to do anything sensible, anything sane right now, but Michonne wasn’t wrong. Even if it was asking far too much, he couldn’t sit here and give up, either. They had come too far, fought too hard. He had ripped out a man's throat with his teeth to save his boy once, for crying out loud. Now he needed to save these people, he needed to focus. Rick didn’t have the luxury to grieve. He knew this. If he let the grief wrestle him to the floor, he would be practically damning everyone who had managed to save themselves down here to death. Nobody deserved that. 

_There was so much death around him. Enough death to last him a lifetime._

He had to get these people out of here. They were good people. 

Rick’s eyes brushed across the prone form of his son, a fine trail of blood trailing out of the small hole in his head where the knife had gone in.

 _Carl_... he pressed his eyes closed briefly. _No_. _No. Focus._ He couldn’t think about what had just happened. It would break his mind into a thousand pieces, and he had no idea if he could recover from that. He had barely recovered from Lori, or when he had thought Judith was dead, _eaten_.

But _Carl_... _no, stop_ , he told himself sternly.

_Stop. Not here, not now. Get a grip. You heard the woman. Focus. Lead them._

He didn’t understand how he could be in so much physical pain. Every muscle was burning und hurting. His stomach felt queasy and he wasn’t sure when he had started sweating so profusely. After the baking heat outside, the tunnels were cold. There wasn’t any reason why he should feel like this. 

Rick thought about it a moment. He had been pushing himself for days, yes, but it wasn't any worse than what he had already endured several times since the turning of the world to shit. Coming up blank, he hurried to gather himself up into a low crouching position. Michonne supported him, eyes flicking over him worriedly, possibly feeling the strange clamminess seeping out the pores of his bare arms, but saying nothing about it. He looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

She flashed him the briefest look of relief. The leader was back, albeit badly shaken. Rick moved forward. The group of survivors gathered around as best they were able to in the narrow space. His lips felt dry as dust, unwilling to speak.

Ignoring that as well, he sought out every pair of eyes with his own. Something burned in his body, driving him to continue, although a huge part of him felt dead. 

“I’m sorry...” Rick Grimes started to say, but stopped when he noticed the sheen of unshed tears in many of the pairs of eyes staring back. He felt a mirthless smile struggling to break free when he realised all these people were worried about _him._ And that they were in grief, too. They didn’t need a grieving father saying an apology to them. What they needed was the one thing he didn’t know he could still have, ever again, in any dimension: Hope.

He swallowed painfully.

_I can’t do this, I can’t._

“You know what happened. Carl was b –, “ against his will, his breath hitched, _because_ _he couldn’t say it, not yet_ – “and now he’s... _dead_....,” Rick’s voice broke. Fresh tears spilt down his dirty cheeks.

_Lori… I can’t lose him too._

It was then that he heard the moans and gurgles of Walkers, somewhere above ground. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at the group. They needed to act.

“We have no time to wait for other survivors. Alexandria is overrun with Walkers and Saviors. Don’t know what happened, but the Saviors have managed to come after us. Grab your stuff. Keep your weapons ready. And try and keep as quiet as possible. We’re going to get out via the tunnels."

He sought out Michonne's dark eyes. "Michonne, I want you at the back. I’m taking the lead. We all stay together, and move quickly." She nodded. 

Although he could see questions burning in some of the faces, and some trembling lips, no one said anything. He glowered ahead into the dark, appraising.

“Alright. We’re moving."

His mind detached itself from his soul as he picked up the body behind him and slung it over his shoulder. There was a collective gasp of breath, maybe of protest. But once again, no one said anything. It was better they didn't. 

_I’m not leaving you here.  
_

Supporting the body against himself with one arm, his free right arm holding his gun pointed forward, Rick started walking.

If he had listened to what his aching body wanted him to do, he would have wanted to curl up and faint, or sleep, or something. Not on the cards, though. The tunnel ahead was empty. Grimes felt relieved when he remembered that only last week had he taken a team down here to clean out the tunnels of stray Walkers in case of an emergency escape. He hoped it would be enough. It had to be.

The dreadful howls and cries of pain he could hear made clear that the scenario above them was far from pretty.

Alexandria, their home, was being dragged through hell.

Another bloodbath on his own turf. He hated it.

He could hope that the casualties on the Saviors’ side were far, far higher than their own, and that at least this little group of people he called his own would be able to get out and survive.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a handful of minutes at most, they arrived at a crossroads of sorts in the tunnel system. He'd been here twice before. Thinking, Rick briefly hesitated, trying to remember his bearings.

The cacophony of sound above them had diminished. Still it was loud. Perhaps the gates were open. It certainly sounded like a large herd of Walkers had made it into the safe zone of Alexandria. He couldn’t hear the living, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any of them left. He hoped there were other survivors. The Saviors were able to take down piles of Walkers, equal to his own group in their formidable fighting capabilities. Probably they hadn't lost as many men as he would have liked. Also, it was likely that the Saviors were waiting for them to come out of hiding and gun them all down.

_Can't let that happen. Have to be quick and quiet.  
_

Beyond the tunnel crossroads Rick knew the tunnel system branched out more and more. With the noise and carnage of the war unfolding above them, Walkers had no doubt already started to descend upon Alexandria again. Some Walkers might have breached the tunnels. Yeah, sure, they had made a rather thorough sweep through the tunnels only last week. But because of the number of times the tunnels branched out from beyond this point, it was hard to estimate the risk that lay beyond, especially as he couldn't judge the amount of Walkers above ground. Too many risk factors. 

Could he really be sure that they had found and secured all possible entranceways to the tunnel system? He wasn’t the type to do things half-assed, but it was possible they might have overlooked an entry point. A single mistake was still enough to get everyone killed - or worse. Rick hefted the body of his son a little higher over his shoulder and sighed. His clothes were sticking to his frame. He could feel drops of sweat slipping down his spine.

Continuing down the tunnels might still be the safer option then trying to make a break for it above ground. But beyond this point, there would also be fewer ladders and manholes to get above ground at all. He needed to remember that too. Either way, he could be leading his people directly into a trap.

_Can’t think straight. Can't make any mistakes.  
_

Briefly, Rick found himself wishing that Daryl were down here with him. Daryl always knew what to do in such a situation, could estimate risks in the wild like no one else. The hunter was a master at reading the wilderness, and Rick at best an artisan at reading the darkness inside men's hearts. 

Rick Grimes drew in another shaky breath. Then he took the right hand turn down the tunnel.

_Here goes nothing._

They had been walking almost an hour when the situation worsened. Rick had tried not to let the strain show of carrying his son and of the ever-worsening pain in his body. Now it was getting hard to take the next step, and the next, and the _next_. His limbs throbbed in a constant ache. Intense pain reverberated in his skull. He knew he couldn’t break down, so he didn’t. But damn, it hurt.

His heart ached the most.

The group waded through knee-deep, cold water in silence, some stretching out their arms to support themselves along the tunnel walls. It was dark. The few manholes were very overgrown and hardly letting any light fall down into gloom. Every few hundred feet, metal grates appeared on one side or the other of the tunnel.

Following a left turn at an intersection, Rick had already passed a dark grate unscathed when a horrible gurgling sound erupted from it. Dead hands jerked out hungrily. The Walker caught hold of the man behind him and pulled him closer to the grate in less than a second. The man screamed. Instantly, Rick dropped Carl and swung around, the hatchet already in his hand.

More Alexandrians were being attacked now – both grates on either side of the tunnel were alive with Walkers, their rotting arms and heads pushing through and against the rusty metal, spurting gluttonous gobs of blood.

Rick cursed and hurled himself at the nearest Walker, slamming the hatchet into its half-rotten head. Pieces of its brain and black liquids seeped from the skull as it went down, only for the next Walker to immediately grasp at him through the grate.

“ _Move!_ ” he shouted at the Alexandrians. Some were still standing there, paralysed in fear between the grates and the mass of grey, dead arms reaching out. “Don’t stand there – _move! Move!_ ” Rick hissed. 

They listened. Some pushed through the mass towards him, desperate to get away, while others started hitting at the hands and heads with anything they still had in order to defend themselves – hammers, kitchen knives, poles, hockey sticks, bats.

Michonne showed up like a rising storm in summer, pushing past wailing people and brandishing her katana like the warrior she was.

The sword could hardly be wielded in the confines of the narrow tunnel. Michonne started cursing under her breath as she had to avoid striking the living while mutilating the Dead. The hissing and hungry moaning of the creatures was reaching a volume of sound that could be heard above ground.

When one of the men was dragged against the grates by four Walkers at once, his terrified shrieks echoed down the tunnels in all directions. A Walker pushed part of its disgusting head through the grate and latched on to the arm of the man, while another one ripped open his throat with bony hands. Warm blood erupted out of the man’s neck in a crimson fountain, splattering across half of Rick’s face and shirt. He shied away and struck out instinctively, momentarily blinded by the blood, driving the hatchet unceremoniously into the head of the unfortunate man.

Rick snarled, harsh and vicious, body language changing.

_You have to save them._

He started hacking at the Walkers, trying to get at their heads or at least chop off their arms before more people were hurt. Anger and desperation overrode his other senses as Rick surged into the mass with a roar, teeth bared. Some of the survivors were now in a full-fledged panic, surging forward past him into the relative safety of the tunnel beyond the grates. Others still fought bravely, if uncoordinatedly, hacking and spearing the Walkers any way they knew how. Several times Rick had to lurch to the side to avoid a panicked person from hitting him by mistake.

Another panicked shriek ahead made Rick turn his head for a second, eyes piercing the gloom. His stomach lurched as he saw Alexandrians backing away from something ahead. There were Walkers _ahead_ of them, in the tunnel.

_Shit._

Setting his teeth, he took another swing at the last of the arms reaching out from the right-side grate. The grate was covered in blood and gore, a mass of arms lying unmoving in front of it while the Walkers still pressed against the grate from the other side. The greater danger now lay ahead of them. Ignoring Michonne’s alarmed cry, he lurched back forwards, waterlogged boots slipping and sliding in the guts and brackish water.

Pushing a screaming woman to the side in time, a single thought sang through Rick’s head as the gory hatchet connected with the half-detached head of a Walker: _No more death._

_Not today. Not today._

_I can't bear it. I can't.  
_

The battle in the tunnel didn’t last long, but it was gruesome.

Rick was covered in blood, water and mud by the end of it. His hatchet dripped red gore.

A pile of bodies lay at his feet. Only when the last Walker in front of him dropped dead did he notice that he was shivering all over. He put out a shaking arm to support himself, hot breath catching between his bared teeth.

_Can't can't can't..._

He felt terrible. Inexplicably, his spine had started hurting him. His teeth felt as if he had been socked in the jaw. The clanging bell in his head was reaching a crescendo, and he still didn’t know what was wrong. All he knew was the heat of fever rolling of his body in waves, and the disgusting taste of rotten blood in his mouth. 

“Any more?!” Michonne called.

The Alexandrians had shambled together on past the grates and were leaning against the walls, clutching their tools and panting.

A man shook his head at her, decidedly slowly, and with that the black woman sighed and turned back to Rick.

"Rick?"

He stood with his back to her, his head on his arm that clutched the wall. The hatchet was still in his other hand, dripping blood down his leg. He was giving off a horrible, low keening sound.

Michonne saw shivers run through his lean frame, which was looking all the leaner as the bloodied, wet clothes clung to his pale skin. 

“ _Rick_ ,” she whispered, making sure he noticed her presence before she touched him.

He peered at her over one blood-stained, bony shoulder. Then he turned around, dropping the hatchet into the water and half-collapsing against her. His legs gave way fully as she clutched his arms in an attempt to steady him. Rick sank down onto his knees with a moan and all Michonne could do was break the worst of his fall. Crouching down with their leader in the murky water, she felt the heat radiating off him. Rick rested his forehead against her arm, eyes half-closing, the keening restarting.

“ _Rick!_ ”

It cost him to look up, she could see that. 

The sound coming from his mouth continued, and it was nerve-racking to hear it. 

“Rick, it’s okay, they’re dead...,” Michonne tried to calm him.

Gently she cupped his cheek with her hand.

“Oh no, Rick...," she breathed, fingers clutching his shirt. "Did you get bitten?”

The keening stopped when Rick took a breath and gave a small shake of the head. He looked dazed, on the edge of delirium. His eyes were so teary they reflected her face like a sheet of water. 

_Maybe_ _the madness of intense, gut-wrenching grief_ , Michonne thought, heart clenching. 

_Rick, we can't stop. I'm so sorry._

“No... no bite. Don’t know what’s happening. Feel... s-sick,” Rick pressed out. His voice was hoarse.

“It must be the l-loss... it’s all happening too fast to process. Can’t really handle this either," she whispered into his ear, and held him up, almost hugging him. 

A small sob left her lips. "I'm so sorry, Rick... but you need to hang on, okay? Please. We can't stop now." 

Maybe she could handle the death of Carl, but Rick didn’t know if he could. “Can you go on?” Michonne queried, seemingly preparing herself for any possible answer.

He nodded obediently. That movement alone was making his head spin. And he was shaking bad. But he couldn’t give up. _Not now_.

His friend looked him over, concern evident and not quite believing, but helped him up to stand. With a wince, he bent down and retrieved the hatchet. Everything was spinning a little.

“We only lost one just now. But the others are badly shaken. Think the Saviors could have heard the commotion. Come on, we have to hurry,” Michonne insisted, the strain in her voice telling him more than words how serious the situation was.

Rick nodded again, immediately hating himself for it as the spinning got worse. Blinking rapidly, he squinted around her at the group of people behind.

“Almost there,” he pressed out hoarsely. From the looks of relief he could see he had said the right thing. They needed to cling to a narrow margin of hope.

He was long past that point himself.

Grimes stopped and looked down, searching. Michonne opened her mouth and closed it with a snap as he pushed the dead body of a Walker off his son. “Okay,” he muttered tonelessly. 

Carl was heavy. Rick had to grit his teeth not to collapse under the weight when he managed to hoist him up into a fireman’s’ carry. One hand braced against the wall of the tunnel, he painstakingly crossed over the bodies of the Undead, leading the group onward.

 _Strange_ , Rick thought blearily as he forced himself forward, trying not to release his hold the hatchet. _M_ _y symptoms… but I didn’t get bitten or scratched...what else could it be? Don’t understand._

_Ignore it. You have to._

_Can't can't can't._

It was a long walk.

After another thirty minutes of shuffling forward through the gloom, a manhole came into sight.

This one seemed clear, judging by the stream of light filtering through the holes. The ladder looked sturdy – yes, this was the manhole Rick had been looking for.

He couldn't quite believe he had managed to navigate all the way here after all, under duress and probably sporting a fever. He guessed the overdrive of adrenaline was helping. Maybe he would pass out as soon as that adrenaline left him.

 _All I ask is to get the others to safety_ , he pleaded with a probably non-existent entity. _Then you can take me. I’m willing to die. Don't mind it. Just please, give me a little longer. Whatever is wrong with me, it has to wait._

Gently he placed Carl at the foot of the ladder and let Michonne help him maneuver the heavy lid to one side. She made a move to climb out first, but Rick gripped her arm, causing her to still.

“No. Let me, Michonne.”

She looked at him, eyes softening.

“Okay.”

It was hard to climb the ladder. Swallowing his gasp of exhaustion, Rick hoisted himself up and out into the sunlight and the empty road.

He guessed they were at least a mile away from Alexandria, maybe two. Good.

Rick stayed pressed flat to the ground and looked around, blinking through the sweat rolling down his face. The road underneath his wet body was singeing hot. It burned at his soaked clothes. Together with his own fever, lying on that hot road made Rick feel like he was near to throwing up. Swallowing helped marginally. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt as physically sick as he was feeling right then. Emotionally, he was more of a wasteland than a man.

Everything seemed quiet. The road passed between several large homes, the buildings now burnt down and partially collapsed. Rick couldn’t get a proper overview from where he was pressed against the ground in the middle of the road, but he hoped everything was as peaceful as it seemed. There wasn’t even a single Walker in sight.

After a moment, he peered back down the manhole. “Seems clear,” he breathed. “Everyone okay down there?” Down in the tunnel, Michonne nodded, mouth grim.

“Please... can you help me get... him out?”

Rick noticed how weak his voice sounded. Michonne frowned up at him, but didn’t argue as she dragged up the body to his waiting arms.

Gently but firmly, Rick pulled the wet body out into the sunlight and laid it down next to the manhole.

Carl looked so pale... so worn out.

_He was dead._

Maybe it was the sight of his dead son in broad daylight, or maybe he had pushed himself too far, but before Rick knew it fat tears were dripping down his nose again, hissing slightly as they hit the blisteringly hot tarmac.

And the pain came back, with double the strength as before.

The world was suddenly spinning out of control. Heat roiled and pulsed through him.

Anguish shot up his spine, causing him to cry out. He tried to muffle the cry against his shoulder as he slumped to the side.

“Argghhh!”

Before he knew it, he was flat on the ground next to Carl, staring up at the merciless blue sky. Michonne was calling his name from the depths... 

Rick felt as if he was going into a general seizure of some sort, snippets of time and space melting away, waves of pain making him scream himself hoarse.

_No, no, no...! Stop screaming, stop screaming! They’ll hear you... they’re coming!_

_Was that Michonne?_

Rick didn’t know if he was thinking these thoughts or if somebody was shouting at him to stop.

_Why couldn't he stop?_

His head and his backbone were on fire, his head was pulsing with pain, his muscles aching and twitching.

_It hurt!!_

“AAARRRGHHHH!!!!”

Rick shrieked, body arching and writhing.

He must have bitten his own tongue or cheek, as blood started oozing out of his mouth. He coughed spasmodically, trying to breathe through the blood.

Then the screaming. _The_ _screaming_.

Rick wasn’t sure any more who was screaming. Was is really him? It sounded wrong... so wrong. 

Someone was calling his name... _Rick! Rick! Noooooo!!!!_

He'd stopped screaming, panting harshly against the blistering heat...

Maybe he lost consciousness for a minute. When he woke up, still in intense pain, he could hear the sounds of fighting.

Screaming... gunshots... moaning... and... _that shuffling._

 _Moaning and shuffling_ , and the stench of death... no.

_Death._

_Walkers... no... can’t move...leave me behind. Leave me...let me die. Save yourselves._

"Rick!!!"

Just as he realized there had to be more happening than Walkers, a gunshot rang out very close to him.

_Can't can't can't_

Rick curled in on himself. He wanted to get away from the horrible, horrible noises and all the heat.

Sounds of something... _thudding and squishing_. It reminded him of something... _someone._ It seemed awfully important... but he couldn’t remember.

His body felt like Plasticine... molten. Fluid.

 _Hurts so much_...

The cramps were subsiding, but he felt more unconscious than conscious, sounds and smells and harsh laughter slipping in and out of focus.

Had he forgotten how to open his eyes? He couldn’t see anything. He dragged in another breath, gurgling slightly with the blood in his mouth. His lips felt wet with it. 

_Dripping and hissing on the hot tarmac...._

He almost didn’t feel it when a strong hand dug into the back of his neck and his shirt and hauled him up into to sitting position.

Rick gasped and struggled against that hold on instinct, pushing down a whimper.

His head lolled back against something firm.

Rick wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or in hell when Negan leaned into his line of vision. He looked far too happy and far, _far_ _too close_ to his own face to mean anything good.

“Well, _hello_ there,” Negan said, thick lips splitting into a hideous, shark-like grin.

 _His teeth were very white_ , Rick thought, semidetached from reality.

Negan leered at him, tongue flicking between his teeth. His eyes were like hungry coals. Total blackness.

“Nope, you aren’t dead. Didn’t think this would be the end yet, did you? _Ricky_ , my boy?”

Rick hissed weakly, blinking to not pass out again.

This couldn't be happening.

_I can’t… not you. Not you!!_

He stared up at his tormentor, then felt himself lose focus. He wasn’t sure if he had passed out for a second or not. Next Negan was shaking him and shouting his name in his ear. Rick cringed at the loud sound, weakly fighting in the monster’s grasp.

This wasn’t real. There was no way Negan could have gotten here so fast, _no way..._

There followed a resounding slap to the face. He blinked his eyes open.

Negan looked torn between rage and disappointment as he shook him viciously. Rick felt his bones rattle with the violence of the shaking. His body was like a rag doll with the strings cut. He felt totally helpless.

Grimes wasn’t sure he was even capable of speech right now. Breathing seemed about the most he could do.

_Please. I can’t._

_I can't ._

_Can't can't can't_

“What _the hell_ is wrong with you?!” Negan sneered, slapping him again. “Well. You know what...?,”

Dimly, Rick felt Negan let him go. His limp body fell back, the back of his head connecting with the road harshly. He wheezed and retched, slowly turning onto one side and trying to keep his eyes open as the larger man got to his feet.

Then Negan kicked him in the stomach, and kept kicking him between every next word he shouted down at the trembling figure: “I. DO. NOT. CARE. FOR. WHATEVER. SHIT. YOU. ARE. PULLING. HERE!!!”

It was at the fourth kick, or maybe the fifth, that Rick felt a rib crack.

He was too tired to really scream.

Instead he closed his eyes in defeat.

_Can't can't can't_

Negan was enraged to see his favorite toy in such a miserable state.

He liked the man covered in red at his feet best when he still had some fight in him. Or, at the very least, stare at him with anger and contempt, if his mood was sassy enough.

If he couldn't have that, then he wanted Rick Grimes to grovel at his feet. Lick his boots. Beg for mercy.

Beg like he meant it, with wide, tearful eyes staring up at him like he was his whole, awful world.

Rick started to whimper and gasp, giving him a sliver of what he wanted by the eighth blow. 

More blood spilled from his lips, hinting at internal bleeding. Negan noticed the man was not even finding the strength anymore to curl in upon himself as the kicks rained down on upon him.

Negan paused, disgusted, then gave the man another resounding kick, pressing all the air out of Rick’s lungs.

Rick made a broken retching noise, eyes drooping. 

“ _Fuck this_ ,” Negan stated, with feeling. “I’m tired too. Tired of this shit you pull on me, Rick, tired of _all of it_ , of _you_.”

Rick was almost silent, wheezing softly in a small puddle of blood. 

"You stupid piece of shit. You let him die," Negan proclaimed. "How could you? How could you, Rick? That boy was worth ten times more than you, and has balls as big as mine. What a waste, you stupid, stupid bastard." 

How could he. He didn't know. But it was his fault, he knew that. Negan was right. 

All he could see was black... and red. He lay there, gasping, and thought about death.

_So much red. Blood._

_Carl..._

_Carl is dead. It’s my fault... all of it is my fault! He's dead. They all are!!!_

At that thought, a terrible sound tore out of Rick’s hurt throat.

It didn’t sound human, more like a high, heart-broken howl of an animal. Something grabbed him but with a strength he didn’t know he still possessed he whacked it away with one arm, the awful wailing still falling from his bruised throat.

He felt more than saw himself crawling forwards on hands and knees, a smear of crimson in his wake, and coming to rest right on top of Carl.

Carl was so cool, so blessedly cool on his heated skin. But he was _dead_. 

Beyond it all, the good and the bad alike, Rick draped his body over the corpse with an awful groan, coming to rest with his face pressed against Carl’s neck. His arms drew in around his son’s shoulders. Then he started nuzzling at Carl’s throat, closing his eyes and curling up against the cold body.

“Dear _god_ , Rick.”

There was something in Negan’s voice Rick had never heard before. Maybe pity. Or blatant shock. 

_Carl, I’m sorry. But I’m coming after you now. I can’t wait to see you._

He was fading. He was being lifted. Maybe he was flying. Maybe he was dying.

_Nothing matters, but you. Nothing..._

_... but you._

Finally, the blackness engulfed him. The blackness of Negan's eyes. 

_Black holes leading to hell._

Rick was glad to die. He would see Carl again, if he were that lucky, and taking that slim chance was better than anything else he could think of. 

But it wasn't over.

It wasn't ever over. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan didn't quite understand why he hadn't killed the Alexandrian Leader then and there. Or: Negan takes Rick back to the Sanctuary.  
> Warnings for more Rick!Whump/Hurt (not as graphic as first chapter), mild swearing (It's Negan, I thought it was still pretty tame) and... well, incoming strangeness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, due to popular demand here comes chapter two! (Gosh, it was fast for me, he ;) ). 
> 
> Still in shock (But thrilled! Very thrilled!! XD) by the amount of responses, kudos and overall hits this fic has triggered in such a short time. Woah, people, keep it coming. I mean, this is the first fic I've published in a bigger fandom, you know? So, may be a tad overwhelmed here (In a very good way though, obviously). Bear with me. Anyway. Now I'm staying - hope you're prepared for that eventuality, he! ;)  
> Again, thank you so much for your super encouraging words, comments and appreciation :3. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Negan had had other plans.

He didn’t know why he had changed them. Yeah, the way Rick Grimes had curled up to his dead son and waited to die had been... he wouldn’t say _heart-wrenching_. Negan didn’t use that word. But yeah, the little prick’s actions had killed his mood.

Grimes seemed annoyingly good at that: Killing his moods.

He wondered if the guy even knew how to laugh.

Maybe he should have given Rick a sexy once-over with Lucille, for general morale, for his men thirsting for blood, especially, for what the guy had put them through these last days… _but_. And that _but_ brought the Savior up short, because there shouldn’t have been any doubt in him about how badly he needed Rick Grimes to die. 

But then… _why hadn’t he done him in_?

He didn’t know. Choosing that moment to end his favorite enemy seemed lacking. Negan wanted to feel that delicious, tingly shiver when he killed, if he chose to kill. He desired the dark, natural high of killing and feeling like the hero about it at the same time. And he needed some foreplay: The grovelling, the pleading, _whimpering_ , the screaming and… he craved the whole nine yards, alright? With him as the person who got to decide exactly how the hellish crescendo should end, and when.

However, seeing Rick draped over Carl, with that gasping, mad-eyed sorrow… hell, man.

No, he wouldn’t use _that_ word. It hadn't been like that 

Maybe he just didn’t have the need for bloodshed today. Although, he’d have had good enough reason to drape their drippings guts all over Alexandria…

Because he’d cared for the boy too, that was probably it, why he couldn’t kill Rick then and there. Together with the fact how unsatisfactory that victory would have felt.

Yes. Carl had been special. He’d been the future, and his father had killed him.

Rick was going to die by his hand. Another time then, when Negan saw a better opportunity to use his death to the fullest extent to break all revolutionary attempts against him.

Grimes was barely breathing when he ordered two of his burly men to lift his thin frame on to the truck. They hadn’t protested, but they also hadn’t appreciated his decision.

Equally, the Saviors hadn’t appreciated it when he had told the rest of the Alexandrians to get lost, that they would deal with them soon enough. Negan knew several of his officers had been sporting for a little payback. More than a little. For slaughter and bloodshed. He wouldn’t have it. They were the Saviors, not the Murderers and Slaughterers. These people, although enemies for the moment, could become valuable in time. If he broke Rick’s tentative hold on them, they could become allies.

At least, that was what Negan told himself.

He had put his foot down and wielded Lucille menacingly – that had been enough for everyone to shut the fuck up. Except one. The black woman – Michonne – had spat some rather memorable profanities at him. He remembered then he had found her interesting. Nevertheless, after toying with her, he had let her lead away the straggling band of survivors. She had been damn unwilling to leave her bloodied leader in his care. Damn, he’d even had to waste a few precious bullets to make her finally scram.

Maybe he should have taken her too. He could respect a woman with an edge. Feisty, that one.

Yet, Negan had sighed and let it be.

The reckoning would come soon enough. It had been a long day.

For Rick he would make special plans. But for that, the guy needed to keep breathing. His condition seemed bad, so bad that Negan decided to take him straight back to the Sanctuary.

If he hadn’t watched him closely, he would have been surprised Rick would break down after a simple round of fun. What a piss-poor show - trust Grimes to ruin things. Negan hoped Carlisle could patch the guy up quickly. It would be a bitter disappointment to waste resources on an enemy, just to have him die in luxury on a hospital bed and not repay Negan’s kindness by having an appropriately _grisly_ death.

Or… maybe there could be other ways of repayment? The guy was handsome. Rick would look pretty good with his lips wrapped around his cock, grovelling naked in front of him on the floor. Not happening right now though. Now he looked like shit, pale and sweaty under blood and dirt and darkly blooming bruises along his jaw line.

If Rick had been an animal, Negan mused, he would have put him down hours ago. He would have done it quick and clean. Yeah, he had a soft spot for children and animals, he just didn’t care to broadcast it much. But Rick was a man. And men didn’t usually deserve sentiment.

Negan didn’t see himself as heartless. He was a Savior. He needed a _reason_ to be brutal – granted, the reasons his mind conjured up could be validation enough – but he needed _some_ _reason_ to do the terrible things he did. Of course, he wouldn’t lie that it was icing on the cake to also _enjoy_ his line of work while at it.

_Once he had decided that yeah, he did have a damn good reason to bash someone’s brains out._

It was boring as fuck travelling back to the Sanctuary, and Negan wasn’t one for boredom. His men were not the greatest conversationalists on the best of days nor were they all that clever or intellectually gifted (a fact he sometimes resented, so he’d appreciated his conversations with Eugene, strange as the guy was, he sure wasn’t stupid). Disappointingly, none of Negan’s men wanted to hear a rousing speech either. And, even though they would have done so at a mere glance, Negan didn’t feel very inclined to force them into reprising the memorable lessons he’d taught to his adversaries in all graphic detail.

Instead Negan amused himself by listening to the sounds Rick gave out every time the truck jolted over a bad bit of road. He also pushed the tip of a boot into Rick’s tender ribcage and hollow stomach, because of this unnameable itch inside to get a different reaction from the unconscious man every now and then. That Rick was able to breathe out soft moans and pull back from Negan’s prodding even in his pain-induced slumber gave him a little satisfaction for the ride.

Negan noticed himself observing Rick’s unconscious features more closely as the day wore on - his cracked, blood-stained lips for example – or the way the fine structure of his bones lay outlined under the surface of wet, dirty cloth. His dark eyes also sought out Rick’s quivering lashes, the paleness of his skin, and took in how Mr. Royal-Pain-In-His-Ass’ sweat-soaked hair was drying into loose ringlets in his nape. His overall thinness. It couldn’t be the loss of Carl alone that had done this to Rick. The man wasn’t merely injured plus mysteriously ill – no, he looked like he hadn’t eaten for days. He looked gaunt, starved, limbs long and almost gangly. Sweat poured down his haggard face and kept his clothes slightly damp even under the ferocious heat of the sun.

The doc hadn’t been thrilled when Negan’s men dragged a bloodied, unconscious Rick into the medic’s room to then unceremoniously dump him on the examination table. Carlisle’s eyes narrowed as he took this in speechlessly. Breaking free from his frozen stance, the doc hastened to check his patient’s vital signs. He frowned when he took in all the blood and the mottled bruising peeping out from beneath the bedraggled shirt.

“ _Jesus_. What have you done to him?” he snapped, forgetting his fear of Negan for a second.

Negan raised his eyebrows. “Nothing you haven’t seen before. A few kicks to the stomach, some hitting – don’t know why the guy has the shakes,” he answered coldly.

Rick had gone very pale from the blood loss, yet he was running far too hot, not cold. Sweat kept beading on his brow. His breathing consisted of wheezing, hitching gasps. The man seemed out of it, yet even unconscious he wasn’t totally removed from the intensity of his pain.

Carlisle scoffed, quickly unbuttoning Rick’s ruined shirt. He felt along Rick’s protruding ribs gently, frowning when his patient gave a low moan at the contact. “You broke at least two ribs!”

Negan cracked a disturbingly leering grin at that, almost as if to cover another expression. “Yeah? _And_?” He savoured the anger he saw in Carlisle’s eyes before continuing. “What, unhappy with my form? Expecting more? Let me tell you, I’m also fucking disappointed here.”

Carlisle shook his head once, sharply, and took a breath through his nose.

“Dammit, okay…,”

He continued to work on Rick, untying the muddied boots and removing his trousers. Soon the patient was down to his boxers and socks. The extent of the bruising over his torso now lay for all to see, bare and ugly. Blood flowed from minor cuts and in slow, bloodied drops of drool out of Rick’s barely open mouth. Carlisle sighed, then pried open Rick’s eyes and shone a penlight into them, peering at the patient’s slow reactions.

“He has a moderate concussion,” he stated. He looked at Negan.

“Oh, yeah,” Negan smirked. “He may have cracked his head once or twice on the road while I was hitting him. Nasty sound it made.”

“Right…,” Carlisle pressed out, continuing his investigations. “Fuck, and he’s burning up…!!,”

Negan found himself ignoring the spluttering doctor, briefly lost in the light dusting of Rick’s curly chest hair for three seconds too long, before wandering lower, following the slight tremors of pale flesh to a faded Calvin Kline waste band. His mouth twitched and in his still-present boredom he wondered if it was chance or if the little prick actually cared about the underwear he wore. He grinned when he thought of the seemingly uptight, constantly pissed-off Alexandrian desperately ravaging the clothes stores for fashion briefs.

Carlisle caught the grin and muttered something under his breath. Which was kind of sassy of the doc, but then he had just dumped a severely ill patient on him without warning. Carlisle raised his head and stared at him, as if to ask why he was _still_ _standing_ _there_.

Good question. _Why_ was he staring at Rick?

“Anything else you want, Negan?” Carlisle asked in a dark tone. 

“Nope,” Negan drawled, popping the “p”. “You just do your job and keep this piece of shit alive. Got it?”

The doctor glared, and now Negan was getting a little annoyed at this insubordinate behaviour. “What _more_ would you have me do for this guy, _do_ _tell_?”

Carlisle seemed stuck on that glowering look. “Negan, I’ll try my best, but he has a high fever and I don’t know why. This is a problem, and a much more serious one than his physical injuries. Maybe if you hadn’t _beaten_ _him_ _to_ _a_ _pulp_ on top of it all his chances of survival would be… _better_ , okay? So, meaning no disrespect, but don’t blame me if I can’t save him.”

Negan stared back, lip curling. Carlisle frowned down at the Rick and took a deep breath. “Fine, okay. Let me think. If you want me to keep him alive, then I need a bath filled with cold water, at the very least. As cold as possible. His temperature is off the charts, and I need to get it down quickly. He wasn’t bitten or scratched. I checked. This is something else. Maybe…, _fuck_ , I don’t even know, poison could be possible…,”

“ _Poison_?” Negan chuckled. “That’s bullshit.”

“May I have one of the women to assist me with him?” Carlisle asked, ignoring Negan’s remark as continued to work on Rick. When Negan didn’t answer, the doctor turned back to look at him.

“Please, Negan. It’s gonna to be hard enough to get him stable, whatever caused this condition. If you want me to do this, seriously have a fighting chance at saving him, then you need to give me everything I ask for. Right now.”

After a long look at Carlisle, Negan grinned. “My, my doctor. Will you look at _that_ , so _fierce_ today! Never thought you swung that way, to be honest. Little Ricky here has got your panties all twisted into knots, and he isn’t even conscious!”

Carlisle flushed. His teeth grinded against each other to keep a furious response exiting his lips.

“Negan. _Please_.”

At last the Savior sighed. “What the hell. Sure, I’ll send you one of the women to help. But you better save him, understand? I don’t _care_ what you need to do to him to make it work, don’t need to know. Just - better not disappoint me in this, Carlisle.”

Carlisle gave a tight nod.

He left the good doctor to his devices.

He wouldn’t have checked in on Rick so soon, but Carlisle sent for him only three hours later. Rick was lying in a hospital bed, clean white covers pulled up to his chin. He was trembling and seemed semi-conscious at best. The doctor walked up to Negan quickly as he burst through the door with a dangerously low “This had _better_ be important, doctor.”

“It _is!”_ Carlisle hissed and shut the door before turning back to him with an oddly intense expression. “What did you say happened to him?”

Negan looked back calmly, although he felt his breath quicken at the agitation of the doctor. “I didn’t.”

Carlisle turned away, seemingly flustered, as Negan continued: “There isn’t anything to tell. He was damn _sick_ after he clambered out of that hole. His boy had just died. Don’t know anything else.”

Carlisle looked at him. “Something is happening to him and I have _no_ _idea_ what it is. It’s freaking me out. Perhaps…,”

“Perhaps?”

Carlisle swallowed, wringing his hands. “Maybe… a mutated strain of the virus...?? “

“ _What?!_ ” Negan spat. “You think he’s, what... _turning_? Without being harmed by one of _them_ , first? Without dying?"

The doctor folded his arms tightly.

“I’m not kidding. Look, I don’t know _what_ to think. All I can say is that he seems to be _changing_. Just... don’t think into one of them dead ones.” Carlisle said. He finally looked up, studying Negan carefully. "Didn't say he was turning into a Walker. I said he was _turning_."

Negan stared back blankly.

“What. The fuck. Are you saying?” he said slowly. “Speak freaking English.”

“Alright. Need to show you something… maybe then you’ll understand…,” Carlisle’s voice was oddly hollow.

“Do I want to see this?” Negan growled, hating how testy he sounded as he stepped closer to the bed holding Rick’s prone form.

“No idea. But I think you have to,” the doc answered honestly. 

“Wait a minute. Just a freaking second here. You said you think he’s _turning_. If not into a Walker, then into _what_?”

Carlisle gave him an almost apologetic look. “You gonna need to _see it_ to believe it, Negan. Trust me. I needed _hours_ to believe it.”

Negan sighed and waved a hand somewhat tiredly. “Fine...,”

Peeling back the white sheets, they looked down at the man who was at their complete mercy.

Rick was lying on his side and wheezing, still with those shivers running up and down his lean body. He had pulled up his bony knees at some point, making him appear a lot smaller than usual. The man looked more dead than alive, skin almost blueish in it’s extreme paleness, stomach dipping inwards to an unnatural degree, really just a bag of bones under pallid, bruised flesh. His long fingers were curled in against his chest into loose fists. His eyes were closed, eyeballs rolling slowly behind his lids.

The Alexandrian was wearing a big, fairly formless t-shirt, so big it could have been a plain dress - the equivalent of a hospital gown. This silly get-up, together with his bad state of health, gave him a very vulnerable, broken look. Right now, Rick Grimes didn’t appear anything close to the crazy-eyed, yet tenacious leader that had caused the Saviors so many headaches in the past. 

“Did he ever wake up?” Negan asked after a pregnant pause. "Like, _once?_ Does he know where he is?"

The doctor shook his head. “No. He's barely conscious, if that. I’d say borderline delirious, and high on pain medication. But… he gets these...,” Carlisle waved his hands around helplessly for a moment, searching for a word – “well, let’s say _surges_. And when such a surge comes… well. Then he starts writhing. Things get _weird_.”

Carlisle hand slipped under the hospital gown behind Ricks neck and pulled it away slightly.

“Do you see that?” he asked, looking up expectantly. Negan leaned forward to get a better look.

At first all he saw was Rick’s disheveled hair ending in curls right above his nape. But when he looked more closely and put out a hand to touch, he felt something _else, something growing out from under_ the curls.

It was much thicker than Rick's hair, had a denseness to it. Also, it felt quite soft. It felt like fur. Animal fur.

The color was the same as the man's hair.

Wordlessly, he looked up at Carlisle. “Keep going,” the doc said, a little ominously.

Negan's finger followed the soft fur down from under Rick's mane, tracing a thin line of it down the man's spine until it petered out just below the bottom of his shoulder blades.

Around that area, in other words, all across Rick’s slim shoulders and upper back, markings seemed to be forming under the too-pale skin.

The markings were formed like animal spots, imperfect circles rising through the skin in faint greys and browns. The skin had stayed smooth. If Negan hadn't known that Rick had had no such thing on his back before, he would have guessed it was a faded tattoo. Rick’s spots ended in tiny whorls that licked up his sides, caressing his rib cage.

“What _the fuck_ is that?” Negan exclaimed, removing his hand and taking a step back in his shock.

“I don’t know…,” Carlisle said. “And that’s not all of it...,”

Carefully, he pulled down the back of Rick’s boxer briefs. Just above the swell of Rick’s ass cheeks, _something_ seemed to be growing out of his body. It was long, and pale, and it seemed directly connected to his spinal cord. And it… _moved a bit_.

Just then, Rick’s shivers intensified dramatically. He started writhing, twisting in the bed sheets, legs kicking out weakly. A horrible, mindless keening spilled out of his mouth.

“ _No._ Hold him down,” Carlisle muttered, rushing to do the same.

Negan complied, holding Rick’s lower legs firmly and not really processing what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, Rick cried out in pain, and in doing so opened his mouth wide.

For a split second, Negan caught a flash of elongated teeth, sharp-looking little fangs protruding from where Rick's human canines should have been. Before he could check again, Rick had closed his mouth, whimpering into the mattress as he thrashed.

As Grimes whimpered and bucked against Negan's hold, _whatever_ the thing was that was growing out of his backside seemed to grow a few more millimeters outwards. At last Rick fell back, panting and spent. The writhing stopped as quickly as it had come.

Negan swallowed, not sure where to look first - at Rick's unconscious face, his spit-slicked lips working somehow distractedly, or his half-revealed, kinda nice ass.

"The _fuck_?" he managed.

Slowly, Carlisle pulled the loose boxers up to offer the patient more cover, but not too high, so as not to put any pressure on that _thing_ growing out of him.

Then he carefully piled the sheets back on top of Rick, before finally turning to face Negan. His eyes were very wide.

“Actually _,_ I’m hoping you don't think what I think. Because _I_ think I’m seeing something that should be _impossible_.”

Negan had a strange expression on his face, maybe the strangest that the good doctor had ever seen on him. He wasn’t sure what to call it, although shock, amusement and horror seemed to have equal parts in it.

“I... wouldn’t _dare_ say that Ricky boy here is... turning into some _freaking animal_? And growing a god-damned _tail_?” it burst out of Negan. 

Carlisle gave him an odd, watery smile. “Huh. Good to know that I feel much saner if someone else says it.”

Negan rubbed his forehead with his hand. What the hell was happening? This wasn't real, was it?

“Okay,” he said, thinking fast.

“Okay?” Carlisle scoffed. “It isn’t _okay_. This is crazy! Totally crazy!!”

“Yeah… I mean…,” Negan stared again at Rick, who had curled himself into a small, shivering ball of flesh.

“It’s crazy, alright… can’t say I’m pleased...,” he paused, and looked back at the doctor. Carlisle saw mild concern filtering through the scowl. “Please tell me it’s not fucking _contagious_!”

He didn’t want to even _think_ too closely on that one…

The doctor shrugged helplessly. “There aren’t any signs that it is... but I mean, who can say? Wouldn’t have thought Walkers were possible...and here we are, years past _that_ surprise.”

Negan glared at him. Carlisle continued, somewhat fumblingly: “Honestly, I think only the patient can give us some insight to how this could have happened to him.”

“You mean... _if_ he wakes up,” Negan stated tensely.

“Yeah. And, sorry to say this, but that’s still quite a big _if_. He’s still got a fever, and I don’t have the slightest idea how to treat him with these other… _symptoms_. He seems to burn up any drugs I give him. I guess we’ll… have to wait it out. Whatever that means.”

“ _Wait it out?”_

“Until… he’s completed the turn… whatever that makes him.”

Carlisle was very pale, but seemed determined. “I-I’ll stay with him till it’s over…,”

“Yeah. Okay, you do that.” He looked at the doc. “Don’t let him die, clear?”

Carlisle nodded slowly. “I’ll certainly try…,”

Negan sighed heavily. “Dammit Rick, you're such a pain in my ass.” He hesitated before turning away.

He felt... he needed to check something. It had been so strange, a fleeting feeling, but when Rick had cried out like that, earlier, he'd felt... he didn't know... odd. 

Carlisle raised his eyebrows slightly, but didn't interfere as Negan leaned down to Rick, eyes boring into him. Ever so gently, the Savior let a finger slip into Rick's mouth and lift up a corner of his lip.

 _God._ The guy really had fangs.

His finger brushed along the edge of one of the slightly curved canines, careful not to draw blood on the sharp tip.

He would have left it there, he really wanted to. But as he pulled back his finger, his former enemy latched onto it. Rick's lips closed around Negan's fingertip gently. Then he gave a soft, almost shy suck. 

And that made the hardened Savior feel... not uncomfortable. But... really, really odd.

Not protective. Not aroused. None of those things.

_He would never use those words around Rick Grimes. He wouldn't. Never._

Extracting his finger, Negan blinked at Rick's spit running down it, then wiped it on his jeans. 

Carlisle was staring down at the Alexandrian with a deep, confused frown. Thankfully, he wasn't focusing on Negan's face.

Not that he would have known how to read or understand the traitorous expression on his leader's face - if there even was one in the first place.

_Never._

After a moment to gather his racing mind, Negan gripped Carlisle by the arm.

“Right. This stays secret. No word of this to anyone. _No one but me_. Understood?” The tone of his voice allowed no resistance, no protest, no question.

“Yeah. Of course.” Carlisle said. “I’ll... I'll let you know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Rick's condition finally stabilized, Negan checks out how much the man has changed.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overwhelmed by all the support and interest in this story, wow!!! You've made me so happy and grateful - more than I can currently express, as tired AF, but please know it's true and I don't take this for granted. Again, thank you all so much XD.  
> Hope you enjoy the weirdness - don't say I didn't warn you, he ;).

Over the next day, Carlisle sent lists. Negan made everything available to the doc without question. He involved a few of the women to put together the requested items, but no one but him and Carlisle were allowed to see the prisoner. 

No one dared to openly challenge this behavior, not so far at least. However, Negan was aware of the fact that people were starting to wonder what exactly he could be planning to do with Grimes. It seemed to involve some elaborate plan, because why would Negan otherwise invest valuable resources in saving the life of a sworn enemy? Also, not just any enemy, but the Alexandrian Leader himself.

Carlisle had wisely requested a separate room where he could take care of Rick, somewhere other people needing to see a doctor wouldn’t be able to barge in. It made sense to accommodate that wish too. Negan wanted to keep Rick’s dramatic and disturbing changes under wraps for as long as possible.

The Savior wasn’t sure how much longer his lieutenants were going to tolerate all the secrecy, though.

Grimes continued to be a pain in his ass, even now. Unbelievable.

Negan attempted _not_ to think about Grimes, or about how much _whatever_ was happening to the man fascinated, disgusted and confused him. He attempted it – and failed, every night. Because, for fuck’s sake, who wouldn’t be consumed with questions what this all meant? Who wouldn’t be a little worried for his people? Also, how had this even _happened_ to the guy? What if it was contagious and they’d _all_ eventually turn into animal hybrids, or whatever the hell Rick was turning into? What if it was a mutated strain of the Walker Virus, that changed the victim differently to before but stayed deadly?

Apart from Rick being a bargaining chip - not that Negan would ever let him off so lightly - he hoped there would be _some_ practical, long-term advantage to keeping his enemy alive and well cared for. Currently though, Negan’s thoughts rotated around a ton of questions and the general need to _contain_ _this freaky shit show_ until he had some answers.

Rick seemed to be taking his sweet-ass time to “stabilize”.

Carlisle had said he’d let him know when the… _process_ … had stopped.

Negan tried to be patient.

It wasn’t easy. He’d always been the impulsive type.

***

Three days later, the doc sent for him at last. 

When Negan knocked, he heard a bolt sliding back before the door opened.

“Come in,” Carlisle breathed. He was quick to shut the door behind him and gestured over to a corner of the room.

Negan looked around warily.

In the corner, a rudimentary wooden structure had been constructed, rising slightly higher than knee-level and otherwise open. The planks ran like a wall around the mattress on the floor, which was piled high with blankets and a few lumpy pillows. A play pen? Or… he’d last seen a similar construction - a lot smaller though - for a dog, once, _in another life_ , where people still went to work and ironed their shirts and had _pets_. Sometimes those pets had a litter of pups to raise...

Rick’s lanky frame lay curled up in a corner, face tucked down against a shoulder, half covered in blankets and apparently sleeping. His eyelids were tightly shut. Deep, slightly wheezy breaths permeated through the silence. 

“So, is he... hu- _better_?” Negan queried after having frowned at Rick for a while.

He’d nearly asked if Rick was still _human_. Crazy thought. 

Negan felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, automatically making fists and resting them on his hips.

“You mean, _stable_? Suppose we can say that much. Yeah. I mean, no more fever spells, no more... surges. Think we should count that as a success, given what stuff he’s gone through…,” Carlisle gave a half-shrug. “It’s hard to say. He’s… different.”

Negan didn’t comment. “Has he woken up yet? Has he said anything?” he continued, glancing back at Rick. He wasn’t even stirring. The guy had to be out cold not to react to their voices.

The doctor threw a faintly nervous look at Rick. “We’re kinda not at that stage yet – he hasn’t woken up yet. Not as Rick, anyway, and not fully.” He then stared at Negan for a moment, appraising. Maybe working up a backbone.

“He’s not himself, _believe me_. Fair to say he’s semi-conscious at best. So, I’d appreciate it if you could be… gentle with him.”

Gentle… with Rick? Wasn’t gonna to happen.

Negan supposed he must be glowering fiercely, from the way Carlisle straightened. But the doc didn’t step back, either. 

“… tell me what’s happened to him,” the Savior demanded. 

“Well, his behavior has changed a lot.” Carlisle folded his arms. “I’ll show you in a minute, but look, before we jump to any conclusions, want you to know it may settle, like the surges, okay? Maybe the psychological effects of such changes need longer to stabilize than the actual physical changes themselves? That would make sense, I mean, not that I’m any exp-,”

“ _Stop_ ,” Negan interrupted. “Haven’t got all freaking _day_. _What’s_ he acting like? Spit it out!”

Carlisle pushed his spectacles up his nose and sighed. “Sorry, just trying to ease you int-, “

Negan barked a mirthless laugh.

“Don’t need no _easing_ , Carlisle!! You think I have a fucking _pussy_?!”

The doc blanched. “N-no… of course not…,”

Negan stepped closer, a menacing presence.

“Don’t waste my time – straight answers. Now.”

Carlisle straightened, the fearful look hardening into something else.

“Fine. He’s acting like... okay, straight answer? A cub. _An animal child_. That’s what he’s acting like.”

Negan blinked, then it tore out of him in an angry hiss: “ _What did you say?_ ”

Carlisle brought up his hands.

“Please, know this sounds bad. That you were hoping for something else. But… look, what else was I to do? _You_ wanted him alive, and brought him in like this… and he’s a patient now, Negan, so I took care of him!”

He was putting himself between Negan and the still sleeping Rick, the Savior noticed.

“Weird-ass things are happening here, and no one’s happy! All I’m asking is you give him a little more time to come out of it…,” Carlisle continued. 

Scowling, Negan gave a sigh.

“Fuck. Okay. Rick’s acting like a cub, or _something_. Fill me in what that _means_.”

The doctor studied him with narrowed eyes. 

“If you don’t want to know…,”

Negan gave him a grin that was all teeth and zero sincerity. “Oh, Rick fucked up _that_ choice too. No, I have to know, now. So, _talk_.”

Carlisle swallowed and nodded.

“Right… so, he mostly sleeps, for one, he can’t focus his eyes very well, if he opens them at all… and he wouldn’t eat anything solid, no matter what I tried. When he started whining incessantly, I got a little…,” The doc licked over his lower lip. A defensive tone crept into his voice when he continued. “Anyway. I came up with the idea of bottle feeding him before he starved. It worked. So…, that’s…” - here he wrung his hands a bit - “kind of where we are at, now.”

“…right.”

Negan, for the first time in a long time, didn’t know how to react. Didn’t know how to feel about these revelations – a little sick? Amused? Worried? Oddly turned on?

He could hardly grasp that Rick had let anybody bottle feed him, close to dying or not.

_He’d probably be great at sucking dick, if he trained him right._

“So, I was thinking,” the doc piped up, breaking that line of thought, “Probably means that Rick is still mentally catching up with the transformation process? Which, given the dramatic changes to his DNA, seems plausible … that it would take a while, if someone survived such a procedure.”

Negan glared. “ _Don’t_.”

“Er – sorry, what?”

“Don’t call it “ _transformation process_ ”.”

“What do you want me to call it?” Carlisle huffed, carefully hiding a smirk at Negan’s rare discomfort.

“Do I look like I care?” Negan growled. “Call it – something less… just something _less_.”

Carlisle quirked an eyebrow. “Turn? Change?”

“Turn. Plain and simple,” Negan decided. At least he hadn’t chosen _shift_.

“Okay, so due to his… _turning_ … Rick isn’t exactly in the building at the moment, but I think he may come back.”

“You better be right about that,” the Savior muttered darkly.

Negan wasn’t sure he wanted to step closer, see what had happened to Rick - or not, leave the room. Everything was so weird, and he still didn’t know anything about the _how_ or _why_. And… fuck, but Rick looked so helpless, curled up like that… and he shouldn’t be thinking like that, he shouldn’t, because this guy had caused him enough grief to flay him to death. Negan shouldn’t be dithering. He needed to be kicking that fucker’s ass!! It was making him twitchy, that _he still_ _couldn’t kill Rick_ … still felt the need to let the doc help him. 

He didn’t know what to think – about Rick’s behavior, or his own. 

“Can… can you show me?” he finally pressed out, staring holes into an oblivious Rick.

Carlisle gave him a wary look. “You sure?”

“You’re getting on my _nerves_ ,” Negan growled. “Do what you usually do, won’t hurt your precious patient. For now. Happy?”

Carlisle narrowed his eyes at him and refrained from answering. It seemed to do the trick though.

“Alright.”

The doctor stepped into the wooden construction and sat down on one of the lumpy pillows next to Rick. He looked up expectantly.

“Could you please get me a bottle? They’re over there, in the hot water.”

He nodded at a pot standing near the back of the room over a tiny camp stove. Negan’s eyebrow ticked in annoyance, but after dark glare in the doc’s general direction, he stepped up to the pot, where a bottle of milk was standing in a grate submerged in the water. He fished it out carefully, then strode back over to the doc and handed him the bottle with a frown.

“Thanks.”

Carlisle’s hand stroked over the back of Rick’s head and down his nape. Then he seemed to grip at something there and _pulled_. To his surprise, dread, and also sort-of fascination, Negan saw Rick stir a little, then as Carlisle grip tightened, Rick seemed to go limp in his hold.

He was holding Rick by the scruff of his neck – like a kitten. 

Rick gave a small groan, eyes moving under closed lids as Carlisle settled the man’s upper body in his lap and propped his head up in the crook of one arm. The man – or _whatever he was supposed to be now_ \- latched onto the bottle immediately when Carlisle stuck it in his mouth. Negan watched, pupils darkening as Rick started to drink in tiny sucks. Carlisle had to adjust the bottle for gravity to help where Rick’s sucking motions were simply too weak to complete the act on their own. 

That’s when Negan noticed the sleek longish ears that were twitching slightly where Rick’s human ones had vanished. The ears looked similar to those of a stag, in that they started with a slim joint, then broadened to an elegant oval of dark brown, lined with soft white fur. The ears were about the same length to that of a real deer, Negan judged, but hung much lower, given that they’d grown from the sides of the man’s head. They seemed almost floppy – maybe cause the man was more than half-asleep.

The ears themselves ended in sleek black points of slightly longer fur. Apart from the truly black tips, they were almost tone in tone with Rick’s pretty human curls… and that mane of fur he now possessed.

Okay.

Negan thought he could deal with this level of bat-shit crazy… but he wasn’t completely sure.

The hybrid sighed contently as he sucked at the bottle, uncaring towards Negan’s scrutiny.

At a nod, Carlisle pried the blankets off Rick’s body. The hybrid whined at the cold sensation, briefly showing his fangs. His eyes stayed tightly shut. Whimpering, he curled up against Carlisle, seeking the warmth. He was only dressed in black boxers under the blankets, and so Negan could get a good overview of all of Rick’s other physical changes.

Grimes did have a tail – now that it had fur and was fully grown, there really wasn’t anything else Negan could call that thing, swishing languidly against the pillows. The tail was quite long – three, even four feet – hard to tell as it kept moving. Similar to the ears, the tail made a sleek impression and was covered in short brown fur. Faint black whorls painted a pattern along its length, and it ended in a black tip of longer fur. 

More whorls and mottled patches traced a pattern reminiscent of a jungle cat’s down Ricks’ back, like an elaborate tattoo. On closer inspection, Negan saw a tiny band of whorls and spots skim beneath the hair line along the sides of Rick’s forehead. The spots continued beneath the point where his ears grew out from his head, then joined the pattern down his back.

Rick’s spots were… quite beautiful, actually.

But fuck if the guy didn’t look like he’d been genetically spliced with at least two totally different animals! 

Negan wasn’t exactly well versed in zoology or mythological creatures, but he _had_ had enough high school education to be able to think _Greek mythology_ \- specifically, _fauns_ \- and also biology, to think _jaguar or leopard_.

Rick’s overall dark fur, in contrast to his pale skin, appeared almost melanistic enough to think _panther_ , because the whorls in his fur seemed more reminiscent of the typical “ghost rosettes” of the black panther than anything else – depending how the fur on his tail caught the light of the lonely lightbulb above, Negan either saw a generally dark tail without any spots, or pretty shadows in the deep. 

Negan wanted to scoff, because _yeah, of course_ , Rick, anyway rather good-looking guy, wouldn’t change into an _ugly_ animal hybrid like probably anyone else would – oh no, Ricky boy had to _fucking pull of the impossible again_ , didn’t he?

And turn into this… well _whatever_ name fit. _A leopard-fawn? A deer-kitty?_

Was something wrong with him to find Rick Grimes _attractive_ , even now, with these attributes? 

On the other hand, Negan had always liked… _different_. 

And maybe it was that, or because he was a low-key Satanist, more than he’d consciously ever taken notice of – but Negan wondered briefly if Rick would develop horns- _rams’ horns_ _would suit him_ – or even some motherfucking _antlers_.

 _Mediocre_ simply wasn’t Negan, and if he had free choice, he’d take the oddities pretty far. Especially in the bedroom.

Yes, if he was being honest, he found it an oddly arousing mental image, holding Rick down by his horns and the fur of his mane as he fucked into him hard, fist making him beg and whimper, then hearing him roar in pleasure.

Not like this though… not with _Rick, the man,_ clearly missing from the picture.

Nevertheless, Negan felt a curl of warmth flutter through him as he watched Rick feed, all needy and weak and helpless. He stepped into the crate as well and hunkered down, watching Carlisle and Rick closely.

Yeah, he didn’t know where this was going, didn’t know if he should like it or not… was probably going a little crazy himself… but dammit, he couldn’t stop _staring_. 

Carlisle looked up at him, eyes now definitely pleading after doting over Rick. “I know I have no right to ask this, but damn, Negan, look at him. This isn’t your enemy right now. It’s like nursing a child. So please don’t hurt him, at least not before he comes back to himself? Please?”

Negan pursed his lips.

“Not going to promise.”

He shouldn’t go soft. This was _Rick_.

Carlisle swallowed thickly. “Okay, but… could you try and see him a bit differently for the duration of this… development?”

“I’ll try,” Negan said, eyes inadvertently turning back to Rick. If the man was acting, he was world-class. He didn’t think he was acting. In which case Rick was… really as helpless as a child right now?

“Would you... like to…?”

Negan hesitated for a long moment. Finally, he nodded.

Carlisle transferred Ricks’ head over to Negan and made sure he was supporting him properly before he handed him the half-empty bottle. It was a strange sensation, cradling Rick – _Rick Grimes_ – like this. But it wasn’t really the same guy, he reminded himself. Rick in his right mind wouldn’t let Negan touch him with a ten-foot-pole. But the cute little cub could be growing back up into the fearsome annoyance he knew, the man who had been one of the most serious threats to the Sanctuary he’d seen in years. He shouldn’t forget that. No, he really _shouldn’t_ …

Negan didn’t notice Carlisle observed him, watched how his grim expression softened around the eyes. Rick latched back onto the bottle with a small grunt and drank until the bottle was empty. When Negan removed the bottle, Rick gave a disappointed-sounding cry. The hybrid then proceeded to lick against Negan’s hand. Which was equal measures gross and disgusting but also endearing and sweet.

"Shush, that’s enough pet,” he mumbled, running a finger along the soft fur of one of Rick’s ears.

He really needed to keep his shit together... but...

Rick’s eyes were still shut. Suddenly, Negan longed for them to open.

Turning into the touch, Rick crawled onto Negan’s lap. He was lying half on top of Negan now, a warm, comfortably heavy presence. His tail grazed Negan’s leg and settled again. He had no right to be adorable, but there was really no denying that he was. What the hell was Negan doing - cradling an unbearably cute, possibly contagious and definitely obnoxious _enemy_?!

He was so fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And, just saying, kudos and comments go a long way and always make my day :).


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